


A Court of Songs and Shadows

by hanneo



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Gwynriel, Happy Ending, Light Angst, Post-Book 4: A Court of Silver Flames, Romance, Slow Burn, Spoilers for Book 4: A Court of Silver Flames, acosf
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-23
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-13 08:08:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 12
Words: 20,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29648328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hanneo/pseuds/hanneo
Summary: SPOILERS FOR ACOSF. JUST MEGA SPOILERS.**Also the first chapter of this is the Azriel POV at the end of ACOSF but rewritten from Gwyn’s perspective, so that’s definitely a spoiler too**Gwyn has faced the mountain, but it is not the end of her journey. There are still demons from her past that she must face, but now, she doesn’t have to do it alone. She has friends— a family—and she will not fail. And the more Gwyn works, the closer she grows to Azriel, that shadowsinger male who saved her from death only a few months before.*there isn’t actually any sexual assault in this work, just the mention of it*
Relationships: Azriel/Gwyneth Berdara
Comments: 126
Kudos: 278





	1. Prologue (Epilogue)

Gwyn could still hear the screams when her eyes closed at night. The cries of the priestesses as they echoed through the temple halls, the laughter of the males who revelled in their fear. Once, it’d felt endless, and never again did she think she’d know peace. 

For months, Gwyn had relived that nightmare. When Morrigan had left her at the library, she hadn’t known what to do. There was no part of her that knew how to go on, not with those memories still fresh and haunting. It had taken weeks for her to muster up the courage to speak, and even then, it was barely more than a word or two. 

Somewhere along the way, in those months she had spent in the library under the House of Wind, Gwyn had started to simply exist. It hadn’t occurred to her, not until Nesta Archeron came along, that there was a difference between living and existing. That one could do one without doing the other. Gwyn had seen that shift in her friend—when Nesta stopped just _being_ and started living. She wanted that for herself, too.

She knew that was why she was still training as hard as she was. Even now, as she stood alone in the ring atop the House of Wind, while everyone else was either at solstice celebrations or fast asleep in their beds. Something had told her she couldn’t just sleep—some determined, and perhaps even a little cynical, part of herself had said she needed to work harder. That there was still more to be done. 

Her arms and legs were still sore from their training session that morning, though it was nothing compared to how she had felt when they first started. She could still remember how much it had hurt to walk the day after her first session with Cassian and Nesta, and yet even that hadn’t been enough to shy her away. It was addictive, she’d long since learned. Addictive, and enthralling. 

The white ribbon danced in the air before her head, swinging this way and that from where it was tied to the beam. It seemed to simple, and yet it wasn’t. The ribbon was an illusion, she thought to herself. A feat that seemed easy and small but was anything but. It reminded her of many things; of her failures and grief, of the past she wanted so badly to forget. And it reminded her of how much she’d grown. How, in the past few weeks, she’d changed; become something full of determination instead of just something broken. 

It was strange for her to think back to what she’d been like in those first few weeks at the library, when her grief and guilt had been so thick and crippling that she hadn’t ever wanted to see the world outside those walls ever again. Now, however, just every now and then, she would catch herself wondering. Thinking about Velaris, about the city that she could see just barely from her window. Thinking about the people, and the world that waited. 

Gwyn fixed her stance, shuffling her right foot just a little more to the side, and took another swing. Her sword glimmered in the faint light of the stars and moon above, arching over her shoulder and slashing into the ribbon. Instead of cutting in two, it only brushed against the blade and fluttered back to its place. 

She sighed, glaring at the fabric as though it were mocking her by simply being. She supposed, in a way, it was. Gwyn was a Valkyrie now. She could not be bested by a ribbon. She could not fail. 

It was stupid, she knew. No one was there to see her if she couldn’t do it now— no one would know except her, and yet that was enough. For too long, Gwyn had let herself simmer in her failure. She’d let it eat at her until she wasn’t sure what she had left, and she couldn’t let that happen again. She wouldn’t. 

Gwyn raised the sword, ready to swing it again, just in time for the sound of wings to draw her out of her stance. She spun, the weapon at her side, just in time to see Azriel drop into the ring. 

She blinked, blood creeping up and into her cheeks, “I’m sorry. I knew you all were going to the river house, so I didn’t think anyone would mind if I came up here, and—“

He cut her off, his voice smooth, “It’s fine. I came to retrieve something I forgot.”

Gwyn smiled, glad that she wasn’t being a bother. She knew she was allowed in the ring, and no one had ever told her she couldn’t practice whenever she pleased, and yet she still felt out of place. She pointed the sword towards the beam and the taunting ribbon that hung there, seeming to glow silver in the moonlight. “I was trying to cut the ribbon.”

Azriel seemed to stand completely still, Gwyn noticed. Almost eerily so, even for a fae. Shadows danced over his shoulders, little clouds and strings of black and grey that shifted over his skin. He let out a breath, “Aren’t you cold?” 

She was, but she hadn’t realized it until he asked. She shrugged, “Once you get moving, you stop noticing it.”

He nodded, and silence stretched between them. For one brief moment, their gazes met, and Gwyn remembered that time not long ago when he’d looked at her almost exactly as he was then, as though she were broken and needed saving. Suddenly, she was back there, taken to Sangravah by the images of her sprawled on a table, her sister and two other bodies still warm on the floor, as he broke through the door and killed the soldiers that stood there, licking their lips and waiting their turn. 

Gwyn blinked, desperate for something to say so that she could climb out of the memory. She swallowed, “Happy Solstice.”

Azriel snorted, “Are you kicking me out?”

Gwyn’s eyes widened, “No! I mean, I don’t mind sharing the ring. I just… I know you like to be alone.” She smiled, just slightly. “Is that why you came up here?” 

He was looking at the floor between them as he spoke, “I forgot something.” 

Gwyn was unconvinced, and she found it funny that he, the a person who dealt in secrets and shadows like currency of its own, was unable to think of a lie better than that. “At two in the morning?”

He smiled, one side of his lips twitching upward, “I can’t sleep without my favourite dagger.”

“A comfort to every growing child,” Gwyn countered, trying to keep the laughter out of her voice. She swallowed, “How was the party?” 

“Fine,” he said, simply, and then seemed to reconsider the answer. “It was nice. Did you and the priestesses have a celebration?”

She nodded, “Yes, though the service was the main highlight.” 

“I see,” he said softly.

Gwyn eyed his shadows again, watching them curl and uncurl over his figure, stretching out towards objects and back towards him in a constant motion. A thought came to her, and she found she was too curious not to ask. “Do you sing?”

He blinked, seemingly surprised, “Why do you ask?”

She shrugged, “They call you shadowsinger. Is it because you sing?”

He considered it for a moment, “I am a shadowsinger— it’s not a title that someone just made up.”

She shrugged again, and then wondered whether she was doing that too much. “Do you, though? Sing?”

Azriel laughed softly, the sound barely more than an exhaled breath. “Yes.” 

She wanted to ask him more—to know what he sang, and when he’d started. She was a curious sort, people often told her. It was what made working in the library, and especially for someone like Mirrell, so tolerable for her. There were always things to learn down there, be it about people or things or time itself. 

Azriel spoke before she could ask any of those things, however, taking another step towards her. It was quiet, and his shoes didn’t so much as click against the ground. “Try cutting the ribbon again.”

Gwyn blinked, “What—with you watching?”

It had already been embarrassing enough the first ten times she’d tried it in training, when she’d failed and failed over again. She doubted it’d be any less embarrassing now. And yet, Azriel only nodded. 

She pressed her lips together, briefly wondering if she could say no, but ultimately decided against it. He was only trying to help, and what harm could come of it? Maybe he’d fix whatever she was doing wrong, and that blasted ribbon would finally stop taunting her. 

She swung the sword, and it arched over her shoulder yet again. And just like before, the ribbon simply moved around it. 

“Again,” Azriel ordered, and Gwyn did. The ribbon remained full, unyielding. 

Azriel drew his blade from the scabbards on his back, and Gwyn heard the glide of metal through the air, “You’re turning the blade a fraction as it comes parallel to the ground. Watch.”

Gwyn turned and did exactly that, her eyes pinned to his wrists and the blade as he turned it exactly as she had. He spoke again, “You see how you open up right here?” He turned his hand and the sword a little more in. “Keep your wrist like that. The blade is an extension of your arm.”

She nodded and tried the movement as slowly as he had, feeling his eyes on her as she did. It was a struggle, more so than she wanted to admit, to keep her wrist from opening as it had been before. Practice, she reminded herself, would make it easier. Just practice and constant reminders. She did it three times, and then blew out a breath, “I blame Cassian for this. He’s too busy making eyes at Nesta to notice such mistakes these days.” 

Azriel laughed, and she loved the sound. She didn’t think it was something he did very often. “I’ll give you that.”

She grinned, “Thank you.”

He took another step back, his head hanging low again, and Gwyn noticed his shadows seemed to calm, keeping closer to his figure than they had been before. He cleared his throat and started towards the doorway, “Happy Solstice. Don’t stay out too much longer, you’ll freeze.”

Gwyn watched him step into the stairwell and out of her line of sight, and only when she could no longer hear his footsteps did she turn back towards the ribbon. Her sword hanging stiffly from her grip, she blew out a single breath. She could do this—she was a Valkyrie, and she could do this.

She arched the blade through the air, and it cut straight through the ribbon. The bottom half tumbled, one loop after the other, through the air and towards the ground, and Gwyn couldn’t stop the smile that crept onto her lips. 

She picked up the ribbon and stuffed it into the pockets of her leathers, sheathing the sword and letting herself feel the chill of the night air. That was enough training for tonight—she had to be awake and ready tomorrow, and she didn’t want to be dragging her feet because she was too stubborn to go to bed the night before. 

It was only when Gwyn reached the doorway that she realized Azriel hadn’t grabbed anything before he left her there—certainly no dagger, or anything else, and she let out a light laugh as she made for the library below. Some spy, she thought to herself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is some strange mix of Sarah J. Maas’ writing and mine, as it’s a rewritten version of the Azriel Epilogue but from Gwyn’s perspective.


	2. Chapter 2

Gwyneth Berdara wanted more. 

She stood at the window, that small pane of magic glass that was carved into the wall closest to her bed, and stared out at the city below. It was early enough in the morning that dawn hadn’t yet broken the night sky, and the stars were bright and glittering against the black of the cosmos. It made her think of hope; of bright lights that couldn’t be extinguished, of heroes and villains, and of the world that sat still and waiting just out of her grasp. 

There was no part of her that wasn’t longing to be a part of that world. She wanted it so badly she could feel it in her bones, like a pressure that was building and building with no release. But she wasn’t ready, not yet. Not when she still had to convince herself she was okay and nothing would hurt her when she stepped out of the library doors each morning. Not when she was still afraid of strangers—of males— who she knew she couldn’t yet trust. 

Nesta had asked her time and time again if she would go to Velaris with her and Emerie. And there was a comfort in that, in just being asked. They would give her time, and until she was ready, they wouldn’t stop asking, and Gwyn would always be grateful for that. Sometimes even the smallest things felt like everything. 

She left the window and snatched her leathers, the ones that had once belonged to Nesta, from the foot of her bed. They were worn now, and several places had torn at the stitching and were now held together by her own measly job of sewing. She’d never been a seamstress, and anyone who looked too closely at them would know she’d done a horrible job, but it worked for now. They were better than her robes, at least. 

While the other priestesses slept, Gwyn changed and readied herself for training. It was different now than it had been before the rite. Back then, Gwyn had felt every bit like the novice she was, and the training had felt almost endless, like she would never be as good as she wanted to be. But that one week—that one adventure—had changed that. She was no longer an amateur; she was a Valkyrie. 

It was so strange to her. She had done that, had reached that goal and earned that title, and it filled her with a pride that often made her feel like she was beaming. But at the same time, she couldn’t help but wonder if she truly deserved it. Yes, she had reached the top of the mountain. Yes, she had trained until her legs ached and her arms were limp. But what about everything else? What about the fact that Emerie had had to carry her up that last stretch while she was unconscious and useless on her back? What about the fact that she was still Gwyneth Berdara, always the same person no matter what changes she made. 

Gwyn folded her robes and moved to put them at the edge of her bed, and her eyes fell to the small box that sat neatly on the nightstand between hers and Roslin’s bunks. It always seemed to catch her eye, be it in the middle of the night when she was fighting for sleep to take her, or when she was getting ready for the day. Perhaps it was just her curiosity, that natural interest within her, and the fact that she still had no idea from whom the gift had come. 

Clotho had given it to her the day after solstice, and all the priestess had deigned to say was that it’d come from a friend. There was a nagging feeling in Gwyn that Clotho knew exactly who that friend was, but for some reason the priestess wouldn’t say. 

The necklace that sat idly in the box had stolen her breath the first time she saw it. She’d stopped walking midstep and had nearly fallen on her face, because she couldn’t recall ever having received anything like it. Even before the library, Gwyn’s life had been nothing if not simple. She’d dedicated her existence to temples and prayers, and jewelry wasn’t something acolytes tended to keep on hand. 

It was a rose pendant, fashioned from stained glass that rippled in the sunlight like waves over a lake. Perhaps that was why Gwyn loved it as much as she did—because it reminded her of her family, her blood-family, who she missed with every beat of her heart. The rose that made her think of spring and of the court where her mother had once lived, and the glass reminded her of water and Catrin’s webbed fingers. 

Some days, Gwyn would wear it around the library for no other reason than wanting to see if anyone noticed it there and looked twice. The mystery of it was killing her, if only because she had absolutely no idea who it could be. Some of the priestess’ had asked about it, but none had ever made Gwyn think they were the one who bought it. 

On her way out of the library, Gwyn noticed that Clotho’s desk was empty. The priestess was probably still fast asleep, as most people were. As Gwyn should have been. Technically, she didn’t have to be up in the training ring for another few hours, and yet there she was. Eager to work herself to the bone, and then a little more. 

The House of Wind was just as quiet as Gwyn walked through the halls, careful to keep her steps light so as not to wake those who slept in the rooms above. Sometimes, she wondered if it was futile. If even something as quiet as her own breath was enough to wake Cassian, and sometimes Azriel, as Nesta had told her he stayed there whenever he pleased. It wouldn’t surprise her if that was all it took—the pair of them were probably trained to listen for such things, even in their slumber. 

The training ring was just as silent as everything else, but Gwyn often found she liked it this way. There was no part of her that didn’t like training with the others, but she also enjoyed the solitude of working on her own. Of knowing that she was doing it for the sake of nothing but herself. 

She stepped up onto the mats and fell onto the floor, stretching out her legs and her arms and trying to loosen the muscles that were still sore from the night before. She’d stayed late then, too. It was becoming a habit. 

Gwyn stretched for nearly an hour, breathing in and out through every move she made. She went through the formations and the combinations that they’d been taught, feeling every ripple of her back and thighs as she did. She had built those muscles, enough that she noticed that difference everytime she looked in a mirror. Gone was that gaunt female, the weak girl who’d only partially survived. She was still in her, Gwyn knew. Somewhere deep down, that version of herself still existed, but that was not who others would see on her surface. 

Time passed quickly for her there. One moment, she was working under the cover of the night sky, and the next there was light. Bright and beautiful, sliding across the sky in hues of orange and pink and blue. And what felt like mere moments after that, but was probably far longer, Nesta and Cassian came up the steps, their voices alerting her long before they stepped into view. 

“Gwyn,” Nesta said, smiling. She started towards her, leaving her mate forgotten in the stairwell behind her. “Early, as always.”

“Old habits die hard,” Gwyn said lightly. She fingered the bracelet on her wrist, the one braided in colours and ungraceful knots. “How was your evening?”

“Fine,” Nesta said, stifling a smile. 

Above them, wings fluttered over the ring, and Gwyn looked up to see Emerie in the arms of Rhysand as they landed a few feet away. Often, Gwyn wondered what that must be like. She’d never been flying, but she’d seen the others. She’d seen the joy on Nesta’s face whenever Cassian leapt them into the air. Seen the longing on Emerie’s in those moments, too. 

“Good morning,” Emerie said to them. 

Priestess’ began shuffling in from the archway, and Gwyn felt that shift in her chest. That difference between training alone and being with others; when it stopped being about her trying to fix herself and started being about simply being strong. Being a unit, and a family. 

From the other side of the training ring, Cassian cracked his neck. “Let’s begin.” 

And they did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m writing this pretty much just because I don’t think I’ll be able to mentally handle waiting YEARS for Gwynriel (please god let it be canon) and I need something to fill the void in the meantime lmao


	3. Chapter 3

When training ended, Gwyn sauntered down into the House of Wind with one arm looped around Nesta’s and the other around Emerie’s. It had become a routine for the three of them; that after training, they would eat lunch together there before Emerie had to return to her shop and Gwyn had to venture into the depths of the library. 

Nesta, though she was no longer bound by Rhysand and Feyre’s decree, often joined her there. Instead of shelving books, she would help Gwyn search for records or research whatever Merrill needed for her work. It made it feel a little less tiring, Gwyn often noticed, to be there with a friend. It also kept her from getting too lost in her head, which was something she was starting to do a little more often.

“And your mating ceremony?” Emerie asked Nesta, a mischievous taunt in the words. “Is it going to be as immaculate as I expect?”

“Rhysand will certainly spare no expense,” Nesta said, and despite the irony in her tone, there was a smile on her face. 

When Nesta had told her that her and Cassian were mates, there had been no part of Gwyn that was surprised. She’d guessed at it long before—seen the evidence in their stolen glances and touches. And she was happy for her—happy that after all Nesta had faced, she had found someone who would be by her side for whatever might come next. 

“Oh, of course not,” Emerie laughed. 

The three of them neared the dining room and fell into their chairs closest to the doors. Since Rhysand had gifted the house to Nesta, Gwyn had noticed little changes here and there. Things that had been added and taken away to make it feel more like Nesta and less like the Court. 

Plates of potatoes and chicken appeared before them, and Gwyn wasted no time in reaching for her fork. Training always made her feel nearly ravenous. 

Nesta cleared her throat, “Do you think you’ll come, Gwyn?”

“Sorry?” Gwyn asked, swallowing. As she realized Nesta was taking about the ceremony, she felt her face pale. It would mean leaving the library, leaving the House—something she’d only done once before, and wasn’t sure she was ready to do again. “I’m not sure.”

Nesta reached across the table towards her and took Gwyn’s hand in her own, “There will be a place for you if you want it.”

There was a sincerity in the words that made Gwyn’s heart lurch. On very few occasions had Nesta looked at her like that, and almost instantly, Gwyn remembered that day on Ramiel. When all three of them had shared their stories, had spoken their bitter truths, and realized they were not alone. And that they never would be again.

She reached down and touched her thigh, where the scar from the arrow that’d pierced her skin was still pink. When the Blood Rite had ended, she’d been given the option of seeing Magda to have it healed, to have that scar erased. Gwyn had said no, and instead she kept it as a reminder of what she had done and what she had faced. She kept it for the sake of those days when she felt like she’d never be able to do it again, so that she’d know that was not the truth. 

Gwyn swallowed again, this time nothing but air, and nodded, “I’ll try.”

“Should we make a bet, Gwyn?” Emerie asked. “About how long Nesta will go missing after her ceremony. With the way those two go at it, I’m assuming it’ll be no less than a week.”

“Oh, certainly longer.” Gwyn said with a laugh. “Nine days, and no less.”

Nesta feigned a scowl, “We aren’t that bad.”

“You are,” Gwyn and Emerie both said, at nearly the exact same moment. All three of them laughed.

When they’d sobered enough to speak, Nesta looked over at Gwyn again, “I wonder if it might help to start easier. Feyre’s having a dinner at the end of the week—nothing insufferable, and only those in her court will be there. All people you’ve met.”

Gwyn pressed her lips together in thought. She’d never been to the river house, but she supposed that wouldn’t be too big of a step. As Nesta had said, she’d met everyone in their Court, and she liked them well enough. It would be nerve-wracking, that much was true, but it would be nothing compared to venturing into the city itself. “We wouldn’t be too much of a bother?”

“I’d consider you emotional support,” Nesta said, smiling in a way that didn’t quite reach her eyes. Gwyn knew that, though most of her problems with Rhysand and them had been resolved, there were still things that lingered. Words that had been said, spoken out of anger or something else, that had left marks. 

“Alright,” Gwyn nodded. She took another bite of her food, and cursed herself for the worry that was settling into her gut. It was still days away, and yet she was already stressed, and for next to no reason at all. _It’s just an evening,_ she told herself. _There won’t be any strangers._

It didn’t matter how many times she repeated the mantra; there was still the fear in her. It wasn’t unlike a flame, always flickering there in her soul and growing whenever someone gave it something to feed on. 

_You’re fine,_ she willed. You’re fine, everything is fine. 

Except it wasn’t, because her mind was a never ending circle of dread. Of worry and weakness. 

Filled with unease, Gwyn forced herself to eat every bite on her plate. She knew she’d regret it later on if she didn’t—when the worry would force her right up to the training ring and she’d spend a few more hours on the mats. It helped to keep her calm, to give her something to focus on that wasn’t whatever thoughts were causing her harm. 

“I should be getting back to the library,” Gwyn said as she rose from the table. Both Nesta and Emerie were still only half-way done. “Mirrell’s probably already got a list a mile long of things for me to do.”

“How is the book coming?” Nesta asked. 

Gwyn smiled, and every part of it was real, “Wonderfully. She said she’s nearly finished her first draft now.”

“I can’t wait to read it,” Nesta said.

Emerie’s lips pursed, “It’s strange to think that our names will be in it. That even long after we’re gone, someone might pick up that book and read it and know who we are.”

“Strange, yes,” Gwyn agreed as she neared the door. She paused and looked over her shoulder. “But also wondrous.”

“Valkyries!” Nesta yelled as she left the room.

It’d become a chant, of a sort. Gwyn laughed and yelled it back, and the word echoed against the halls around her, over and over again. 

_______________________________

Gwyn lugged the last of the books Mirrell had requested across the library floors. Her arms strained against the weight, and Gwyn was certain that even if she trained twice as hard and for a century longer, it would never be enough to make lugging books feel easy. 

Nine different volumes were stacked in her grasp, all of them centering around history and warriors and customs that were over a thousand years old. Gwyn had always known the library had an abundance of knowledge, but she hadn’t realized exactly how much that meant until now. Everytime she thought she’d found the last book that even so much as mentioned the word Valkyrie, she was proven wrong. 

“Set them there,” Mirrell called, pointing her pen at the stack of novels and volumes that lined the edge of her desk. She didn’t so much as glance up from her writing, but Gwyn did as she asked. As she always did. 

It was instant relief as Gwyn set the books down, the weight of them coming off of her shoulders and allowing her to stand up straight. She rolled her arms and neck, feeling the cracks and shifts of bones and muscle as she did. “Anything else?”

Mirrell looked up then, and she seemed to consider it. A silent plea worked it’s way through Gwyn’s mind—she’d never say it out loud, not with everything the priestess’ and even Mirrell had done for her, but Gwyn was tired of it all. The repetition of her work often made it feel never ending. 

“No,” she said, shaking her head and going back to her writing just as quickly as she spoke the word. “That’s it for today.”

Gwyn nodded, even though she knew Mirrell wasn’t looking, and left the room. It would be time for their evening service soon, and though Gwyn loved the songs and the service itself, she found she was tired of the routine. Tired of spending all day, everyday, doing the same things. 

All of it was new, these feelings. She’d been fine with it all before, but sometime in the last few weeks she’d begun to hunger for something. And it filled her with longing that was nearly too much for her to bare, because as much as she wanted more, she couldn’t fathom the idea of actually reaching for it. Couldn’t stomach the idea of leaving the walls of the library for good. 

With a heavy sigh, as though she were breathing out every bit of stress that was perched on her shoulders, she headed towards the cavern. Streams of robes the same colours of her own walked ahead of her, and Gwyn put a smile on her face as she approached them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Obviously I’m in what one might call a writing spur— I’ve been GRINDING OUT THIS BOOK literally all day. Hopefully this continues, because honestly I’m not mad. 
> 
> This is also very interesting for me because I’ve never written a fanfic for a series that isn’t complete yet, so I’m going to like add in some of my theories for like small things that might happen after ACOSF and I guess we’ll see just how off I am whenever the next book comes out lol.


	4. Chapter 4

It was nearly one in the morning by the time Gwyn gave up on sleeping. She’d been tossing and turning in her bed for nearly an hour, and her head felt entirely too full of thoughts. It was too loud, and she was too fidgety, and sleep would not come to take it away. 

So instead of lying still and stuck in her own mind, she climbed out of her bunk and pulled her robes up and off of her head, trading the dress for the Illyrian leathers that had begun to feel as familiar as her own skin. She was careful not to wake any of the priestess’ as she sauntered out of the room, walking on the balls of her feet right up until she’d left the hall. 

The library was quiet, almost eerily so. Though Gwyn was no longer afraid of what might lurk in the darkness below, not since learning it was only the heart of the House she’d grown to love, she couldn’t stop her heart from racing. She hated walking through the stacks alone, always fearing what might be lurking where she couldn’t see. 

She walked a little faster, tucking her arms around her middle and all but scampering through the doors and into the house beyond. 

She was nearly at the training ring when she heard the sounds of someone above. Grunting and breathing and fists thumping against the bags that hung from the rafters. 

Gwyn swallowed and peered around the corner, tucking herself against the wall in hopes no one could see her. She didn’t do it because she was afraid; she trusted everyone who dwelled in the House of Wind. She only did it because she didn’t want to disturb them, especially since she was fairly certain she knew exactly who she’d find. 

Azriel was standing in the middle of the ring, his wings flared out in a way that made her wonder if it strained him to always keep them as tucked in as he did. Shadows danced over his skin—his bare skin, gliding this way and that as he moved. She wondered if maybe that was why they called them shadowsingers—because the way the shadows moved reminded her of what music might look like if sounds could be seen. 

Gwyn found herself content to watch, taken aback by the skill in his movement. He always focussed on them whenever they trained in the morning— on fixing their movements, on correcting their stance. She’d never taken the time to watch him train because she’d never been given the chance. 

He hit the bag once, and then twice, and then he went still. And it was that stillness that told Gwyn she’d been caught. 

“I didn’t mean to disturb you,” she said as she stepped out from behind the arch. 

Azriel turned, but Gwyn didn’t move any further into the room. He looked over at her and smiled faintly, “It’s fine. I was just finishing up.”

“You don’t have to,” Gwyn said, so quickly the words sounded entirely rushed. She grimaced. “I’m the one who interrupted. I’ll just come back.”

He was quiet for a moment, and then he shook his head, “I think it’s big enough that we can share.”

Gwyn smiled, “Only if you’re sure.”

He nodded, and Gwn stepped a little further into the room. Since he was standing by the rafters, she headed towards the mats. It was where she usually went, anyways. She preferred the stretching and practicing movements far more than she did the actual hitting. 

She rolled out her neck and glanced over at him again, curiously eying the shadows over his figure. She wondered just what they did. Whether he controlled them, or they simply existed around him. She wanted to ask, but at the same time, didn’t want to pry. “Aren’t you cold?”

The night sky was clear above them—there wasn’t a single cloud in sight, and it left more than enough light from the moon and stars. Gwyn could feel the chill of the air. Though spring was fast approaching, it was still winter. There was still snow and a crisp chill to the air that was almost enough to make her shiver, even in her leathers. 

Azriel shifted his stance, readying himself to hit the bag again. He paused. “Once you get moving, you stop noticing it.” 

Gwyn laughed. They’d had this conversation before, and that’d been exactly what she said to him. 

He hit the bag once. Twice. Three times. “You come up here a lot.” 

He wasn’t looking at her, but the way his head was turned, just slightly towards her, made Gwyn think he was listening for her answer anyways. Made her think he was more curious than his statement implied. 

She nodded, “It helps clear my mind. I don’t know how I ever did it before—before training, I mean.” 

Gwyn settled onto the floor and reached towards her toes, her fingers brushing the edges of her shoes. A month ago, she could barely reach her ankles. 

“What about you?” She asked. “You come up here a lot, too.”

Azriel chuckled lightly, “It helps clear my mind.”

She smiled, “It seems we have a thing or two in common, Shadowsinger.”

He turned towards her then, the ghost of a smile on his face. “Azriel. Please.” 

“Azriel,” Gwyn corrected. It couldn’t have been the first time she’d ever spoken his name, but she was sure that it was the first that she’d said it to his face. There was a familiarity in names that Gwyn often found strange, and a little uncomfortable. People, generally, made her nervous. Azriel, however… he didn’t. Not in the way others did, at least. 

The only unease Gwyn felt around him came from her own memories, and nothing else. When she looked at him, she remembered what had happened the first time she ever had. She remembered what she must’ve looked like when he first saw her. How broken and weak she’d been. How cowardly she must’ve appeared to have not fought back. 

She wondered what he saw her as now. Wondered if, and perhaps even hoped, he’d noticed the change. 

She moved her legs out to the side and reached her arms forward, crawling her fingers up the mat and ahead. She felt the stretch in her bones, in the quaking of her thighs and the pull in her calves. This feeling—this was what helped. What distracted her. What kept her coming back, again and again, for solace. 

When she looked up again, Azriel was staring down at her. He seemed to shift when she caught his eyes, as though he were surprised she’d seen him there. He swallowed, “I’m going to go. I… sleep. It’s late.” 

Gwyn smiled as she sat up straight. She should probably do the same, but she knew it was too early for her. That her mind would still be just a little too loud. “Alright. Will you be at training tomorrow?”

She wasn’t sure why she asked—he usually was. All of them, the priestess’ and Nesta and Emerie, had grown in numbers so much that it was too much for Cassian to handle on his own. Especially when he was almost always too busy staring at Nesta. 

“Yes,” Azriel nodded, hesitating again. “Yes, I’ll be there tomorrow.”

“I suppose I’ll see you in the morning then,” Gwyn said, and then just because she could, “Azriel.” 

He blinked at her, almost as though he wasn’t sure what to say at first. The surprise slowly morphed into a smile, and it looked so foreign on his face. She couldn’t remember ever having seen him look so careless—so unlike the spy that she knew him to be, and so like a person. Just a person, and nothing else. 

Azriel started towards the archway, and though Gwyn watched him walk for a moment, she quickly turned back to her stretching. Part of her wished he’d stayed, though she wasn’t quite sure why. Usually she liked training alone when she could. Usually she liked that solitude, and how she would break out of her own thoughts while she worked. 

He started down the steps, and though Gwyn couldn’t hear a single one of his steps, she somehow knew precisely when he’d stepped out of the stairwell and into the House of Wind.


	5. Chapter 5

Sleep never found Azriel easily. 

Sometimes it was because of his shadows and their restlessness, but most times it was simply because of his head. Because of the thoughts that seemed to find him, time and time again, when he was alone and in darkness. 

Not far from where he lay in his bed in the House of Wind, his brother was fast asleep with his mate. And on the other side of the city, his other brother did the same. For five hundred years, they had waited for their mates. For five hundred years, they had been alone, just like him, and now they were not. And Azriel couldn’t help but wonder just how long he was meant to be alone, too. 

It had never bothered him as much before. Not even while he’d been pining after Morrighan, who often wouldn’t give him so much as a second glance. But that loneliness felt louder now. Unforgettably and obviously so. 

There was so much that he wanted. So much that felt like it was just out of his reach, and had been for a long time. Somewhere along the line, he’d convinced himself that Elain was one of those things. He’d told Rhysand as much on that day in the River House. How strange it was, for both of his brothers to be mated to an Archeron sister, and for him to still be alone. 

He knew, of course, that there must be a reason for it. Knew that Elain was pure and kind, and Azriel’s soul was stained in black. That years of death and torment had no doubt taken their toll on him. Perhaps the Mother had decided that, with all he had done, he wasn’t worthy of a mate at all. It wouldn’t surprise him. No, it wouldn’t surprise him in the least. 

He’d long since forgotten the number of males who’d taken their last breath at his hands. Long since forgotten the hesitation he’d felt in the beginning—the fear and sickness that had come with that first kill. If souls could be seen, Azriel imagined his would be as black as the night sky itself. As black as the shadows that lingered on his skin for all to see. 

With his window open and overlooking the city below, cool whisps of wind and winter air licked his skin. He wasn’t sure why he’d opened it; it was far too cold to sleep that way, and yet his shadows had all but begged for it. They’d tapped the glass over and over until he couldn’t stand it anymore. 

If he strained his ears, he could just barely hear the thump of running from above. Gwyn, he supposed, still hard at work in the training ring. He wondered just how late she stayed there, and how she could possibly have time to sleep afterwards. 

She was so different now. He’d never spoken to her before Cassian had asked him to partake in their morning training, but Azriel could see the change on her face regardless. Sometimes he was still haunted by the image of her in Sangravah; she’d been a stranger to him then, and yet she’d still struck a cord in him. Perhaps it’d been the pain on her face. The guilt and the grief that had settled so quickly.

He could still see the ghosts of that grief, but they were far less. It helps clear my mind, she’d said of the training. He understood that. He’d told her as much, strangely enough. Most people had to pry information like that from him, but for some reason he’d wanted to tell her. Wanted her to know that she was not alone in that fact. 

It was why he stayed awake most nights, pummeling the bags of grass on the rafters as opposed to lying in his bed. Azriel lived most of his life in solitude—he had a family, yes, but even around them he remained reserved. Only ever when he was alone with Cassian or Rhysand did he ever truly let himself out. 

He supposed it was because, out of everyone in his life, Cassian and Rhysand knew everything about him. They’d been there for his beginning, when his life had seemed to be worthless and nothing but cruelty. They’d been there for him when everything had fallen to pieces. They’d watched him heal from the fire that had scarred his skin.

And even then, he found he often preferred the mindlessness of practice to the company of others. Especially lately, when he felt more like a bother than anything else. Rhysand and Cassian, though they’d always be his brothers, had people of their own now. Mates. 

And Azriel… he did not.

________

Gwyn was late to training the next morning. Merrill had stopped her on her way out of the library, asking for nearly half a dozen new books to be added to the growing pile in her office before Gwyn set out for the day. 

She joined the others in the training ring shortly into the session, falling into the lineup beside Nesta and Emerie with a sigh. 

Without meaning to, Gwyn’s eyes found Azriel near the back of the room. He was walking some of the priestess’ through the eight-point star, a wooden sword in his grasp. Every movement he made seemed effortless—the kind of effortless that Gwyn thought could only come from centuries of repetition. 

She knew that, like many of the high fae, Azriel had faced countless battles before. He’d fought in wars and in combat long before Gwyn had even existed. The things she read about in the volumes of the library below—the histories she’d studied, he’d probably been present for some of them. Witnessed those events first hand. 

That was so strange to her, and it made her want to ask so many things. 

“You’re staring,” Emerie whispered.

Gwyn whipped her head towards her, a blush creeping over her cheeks. She smiled, “I was thinking.”

“About?” Emerie asked. She was turning this was and that, going through the motions of the combinations Cassian had called out. 

A few feet away, Nesta was doing the same under her mate’s scrutiny. Predictable, as always. 

“Nothing interesting,” Gwyn said with a laugh. “History.”

Emerie seemed to pause, her arms falling to her side as she gave Gwyn a quizzical look. A moment later, she barked out a laugh. “Only you, Gwyn. Only you.”

Gwyn frowned, “What do you mean?”

She shook her head, “Only you could say you were staring at male and thinking about history, and it would be believable.”

Gwyn supposed that was true, in a way. Most would probably look at Azriel and notice the curve of his jaw or the ripples of his arms—two things that, though Gwyn would never admit it out loud, she had noticed a time or twice. He was nice to look at, to put in plainly, but that wasn’t why she had been staring. There was more to him than just his appearance—interesting things. Things that made her think he could be a friend. 

“Some of us keep our minds free of the gutter,” Gwyn said, simply. Emerie laughed again, and this time it was a little too loud. Cassian turned towards them. Gwyn grimaced, already knowing what was coming.

“This isn’t gossip hour, ladies.” Cassian called. 

Emerie looked at him and scowled, but there was a teasing glint to it. She pointed to where his arm was cast around Nesta’s waist. “And it’s not your bedroom either. If you’re allowed to flirt, I’m allowed to talk.”

Gwyn smiled again, and it turned into a laugh as Nesta shrugged her mate off of her with a quick movement of her hips and said, “They’re not wrong, you know.”

“Fine,” Cassian said, looking up towards the other edge of the room. “Azriel, how do you feel about sparring for a while?”

Gwyn followed his gaze, watching the Shadowsinger as he halted his movement and flashed his brother a grin. “You and me?”

“No,” Cassian shook his head. “How do you feel about three against two?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m kind of struggling with finding the medium in like Gwyn’s trauma—like I’m trying to emphasize that she’s still hurting from her past, but is also healing from it as that’s kind of something she started doing in ACOSF but it’s a lot harder than I want it to be so I hope it’s at least somewhat getting across lol 
> 
> Also I apologize for the short chapter, but hey, Azriel POV!! That’s something lmao


	6. Chapter 6

Gwyn stood tall. Cassian had told her once that she too often kept her chin tucked towards the ground, and so she was careful not to do that as she tracked the movements of the two males ahead of her. 

Emerie and Nesta flanked her sides, and most of the priestess’ had stopped their own practice, content to watch. 

Gwyn wasn’t sure just who was more likely to win; Cassian and Azriel had centuries of practice and trials on their side. Centuries, lifespans, to others, in which they’d probably worked just as hard as the three of them had been doing for only a few months. 

Even so, they didn’t fight as a unit. Not like Emerie, Nesta and her did. They were brothers, yes, but they fought differently. Cassian was brute strength, and Azriel was speed and shadow, and their strategies were about as similar as silence and song. 

Gwyn looked at each of the males again, watching their feet and which way they flanked. She wasn’t nervous—no, not even slightly. She was enthralled.

It was rare for her to feel comfortable around people she didn’t know very well. Even rarer, still, for her to be that way around males. But neither of them made her feel unsafe. Neither made her gut churn or her blood run cold. It wasn’t all that unusual, she supposed. After all, Azriel had saved her once, and in a way, Cassian had, too. He’d been the one who’d gotten her started with her training, who’d been patient enough to teach her despite the fact that she’d never done anything like it before. 

She drew in a breath, feeling for every nerve in her body right down to the tips of her fingers. Though neither Cassian nor Azriel would ever actually try to hurt her, Gwyn knew that she would be walking away from this with at least a few bruises. And yet that didn’t frighten her, not as much as it once would have. 

Another result of the things she’d learned, she supposed. Pain had become just as much of a teacher as anything else, as failure often did. Mistakes could only be found after they were made—not before. And that’s when you fix them. When you right those wrongs so that they aren’t ever made again. 

Cassian was the first to move. He darted to the left, and then quickly turned to the right, the shift so quick Gwyn felt like she’d blinked and he was gone. Emerie blocked his hit by holding her arm up in front of her figure, absorbing the brunt of his weight through her forearms and shoulders. And even with her perfect stance—her feet apart and her knees bent—she nearly toppled over backwards from the force of it alone. 

Gwyn knew not to focus too much on the others. It would only distract her, and if there was anything she’d learned during the blood rite, it was that they worked well as a unit. She didn’t need to watch Nesta and Emerie and make sure they didn’t fall, because somehow, she was sure she would know if they did. 

Azriel didn’t work the same way Cassian did. There was more strategy in his movements, more thought to the way he danced around the three of them and sought after an opening. Gwyn kept her eyes open and constantly darting between both males—watching and waiting. Nearly in the same way he was. 

As Azriel launched himself towards them, Gwyn shuffled her feet to the side, all but twirling out of the way. She ducked under his arms, her head just barely missing the brunt of his elbow as it jutted out. 

She heard the thump of Nesta’s arm hitting his stomach—not as hard as she could have, Gwyn was sure, but hard enough that Azriel grunted at the impact. 

All five of them moved like the wind—jumping away from fists and tangled limbs. Gwyn felt her lungs burn in her chest, felt the exhilaration in her bones. Every step she made was the only one of its kind. Trying something twice risked them predicting her movements, and Gwyn would not make that mistake.

She heard the thump of Emerie hitting the floor first, sent there by a sweep of Azriel’s leg. Nesta went down next, lacking every bit of her dancing grace as Cassian’s palm struck the middle of her sternum, sending her careening into the floor. It wasn’t a soft hit, either, despite the fact that she was his mate. Gwyn supposed there was a compliment in that—he wasn’t going easy on them.

And in a novice’s mistake, one she realized only a second too late, Gwyn watched her. Watched as Nesta hit the ground flat on her back, and gave Azriel the perfect opening to send Gwyn down nearly the same way.

Every bit of breath left Gwyn’s lungs in a rush, and she wheezed there for a moment. They’d been beaten, almost brutally so, and yet she’d loved every second. Perhaps because, even if they’d lost, it had only been because Cassian and Azriel had been fighting with everything they had. As though they were equals. 

One day, she told herself as she sat upright and forced air into her lungs, one day they would win. One day, they would leave the very idea of losing and defeat in the past, and it would be carried off into the wind. 

________

Gwyn’s ribs were still bruised as she made her way into the cavern at the back of the library. She followed the train of robes priestess’, trying not to limb in her steps and draw anymore attention to herself. It was harder than she wanted to admit. 

Something in her told her that she’d needed that loss. It would drive her further, feed into her nightly practice and combinations. She’d gone over every move she’d made in that fight—analysed everything right down to the flicks in her wrist. There were more mistakes made than just when she’d lost her focus. 

She needed to be better. Needed to become better. 

Ahead of her, the shuffling footsteps of the priestesses sounded like the beat of drums. One step, and then another, all at the same rhythm. Evening services were probably one of the only things Gwyn found she still enjoyed about being in the library. It wasn’t that she didn’t like it there, not really, but she was beginning to think she didn’t belong there. Not like she once had. 

It was a double edged sword, that knowledge. She felt out of place, and yet she knew she wasn’t ready to leave. Knew that she would panic the moment she set foot outside of the comfort of the spaces she already knew. 

With her hands clasped tightly around her invoking stone, Gwyn followed the priestess’ into the cavern with her chin held high. She couldn’t remember the first time she’d ever sung. Couldn’t remember when she’d started or why, only that she loved it. 

Music brought freedom. It brought hope and life even in the darkest of places. Her mother had once said that Gwyn’s voice was a gift, and though she wasn’t sure she agreed, she cherished that compliment now. Her mother had loved it when Gwyn sung, as she used to do all around the temple as a child, belting out songs and limericks until Catrin sometimes covered her ears and bellowed about all the noise. 

It was so easy to lose oneself in music. It brought revelry and joy and everything good. When Gwyn had been lost in her grief, in those first few weeks in the library and priestesshood, she hadn’t sung so much as a note. Hadn’t spoken a single word or used her voice at all. Hadn’t allowed herself that priveledge. 

It had felt too wrong, for her to have something that made her so happy when everyone she loved was gone. And the idea of singing in the service… When she’d first been asked, she’d laughed at the idea. Scared poor Roslin right out of her own bones by the madness of it. 

Gwyn had felt wrong, back then. She’d felt mangled and used and broken in a way that words could not describe; in a way that made her impure. And because of that and that alone, she’d said no. She told them that neither she nor her voice belonged there, and likely never would. 

It proved to be a lie only a few weeks later, after her time spent shelving books and doing little else had proved too little, and she decided she needed more. Decided to give herself a little more worth than she’d allotted herself before. 

Now, she very rarely missed a service. Nothing except disease or a fatal wound would be able to keep her away. 

Gwyn stood in the line at the front of the room, half-circled around the dais. And only when the room was utterly quiet, when she couldn’t so much as hear the breath of the females beside her, did Gwyn open her lips and sing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I went back and reread how Sarah described dancing for Nesta in order to write Gwyn’s description of singing here. I loved that scene in ACOSF (the one with Nesta dancing, both with Eric’s and Cassian).
> 
> Also you guys are really hyping me up in the comments and I just want to say I am so thankful and appreciate every word— and I am equally obsessed with this ship lmao.


	7. Chapter 7

Gwyn stood in the centre of the training ring, and for the first time in weeks, she wasn’t cold. The snow had started to melt from the hills, as she’d seen from the window in her room, and even in the dead of night, she could feel that shift. It wasn’t warm—not even close—but it was comfortable. A cool breeze on her neck to balance out the heat of moving her body for so long. 

She’d gone over her combinations, trying them over and over again out of hope that the repetition would somehow lead to improvement. There was something off about one of her turns, but she couldn’t quite figure out what it was. Whenever she stepped out of her hit and turned to kick, she would fall just a little off balance. Only slightly, but enough. 

She cursed at the air and went through it again, slower this time. Her arms felt like weighted bricks everytime she lifted them, strained from overwork, but she wasn’t tired enough to go back down to the library. Not when she knew it would only mean she’d spend the hours lying awake and unproductive when she could be practicing. 

Most of her evening had been spent rifling through Merrill's obscene collection of books, double and triple checking the references the priestess had made in her own writing. Gwyn felt that, at this point, she could more than likely teach an entire course on the Valkyries and their lives with everything she knew. 

They’d trained for hours every day, and they’d been known to be some of the best warriors of their time. They’d been feared by any and all who risked meeting the edge of their blades. A fearsome unit, if ever there was one. And yet they’d still fallen. Every last one of them, if the books were to be believed, had met their end in battle. 

Gwyn twisted her arm, going through the motion of a punch first and then turning to kick out her leg. She felt her shoulder’s drop, felt the shift in her weight as she lost her balance for that one split second. And still, she couldn’t figure out why.

“Stupid,” she murmured, shaking her head. 

“I think that’s the closest thing to a curse I’ve ever heard from a priestess,” someone beckoned from behind her. 

Though Gwyn jumped at the sound of a voice, her shock didn’t last long. She turned and forced a smile, “We ought to put a bell on you.”

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” Azriel said from where he lingered near the door. Shadows danced over his figure, both his own and those cast from the room itself. He seemed to pause, as though he were weighing his words before he spoke, something Gwyn noticed he did often. As though he didn’t trust himself to speak before he knew exactly what would be said. “Is something wrong?”

She laughed dryly, “I can’t quite get this—I keep losing my balance.”

He took a step into the room. “Do you want help?”

Gwyn looked over at him again, thinking it over. “If you don’t mind.”

Azriel took the invitation, walking up just a little closer. Slow enough that she knew the pace was deliberate. “Go through it again.”

A little more nervous than she’d been before, Gwyn did exactly that. She stepped forward once, swinging her arm and fist in front of her. Her left hand followed quickly after, and then the turn. Her shoulders and her hips gliding to the side as her leg jutted out. And still, she felt that imbalance. A wobble in her knees. 

When Gwyn turned back to face him, he was frowning down at her feet. He nodded, “Again.”

Without a word, she did. 

As Gwyn stood up straight again, Azriel bent down to his knees, pointing to her feet once again. Gwyn’s eyes tracked the shadows over his shoulders as they seemed to peel away from him, almost as though they were reaching for her. They were curious things, she thought to herself. 

Even Nesta had once said that she didn’t know how Azriel’s shadows worked. Gwyn wanted to know, as she wanted to know most things. Were they as alive as they appeared? She wondered if there was anything about them, about Shadowsingers in general, in the library below. 

She made a mental note to look into it whenever she found the time.

“You’re turning your foot out instead of in.” Azriel said, mimicking the angle with his wrist. “It’s throwing your legs off balance—not much, but enough.”

Gwyn sighed, “It sounds so simple when you put it like that.”

He stood up again, towering over her with his full height. A half-smile graced his lips as he spoke, one corner of them lifted up just enough to tell her he was amused. “Practice some more, and eventually it’ll feel as easy as breathing.”

Gwyn laughed, “Ah yes. I imagine that’ll only take a century or so.”

“You learn quickly,” Azriel shrugged. “I don’t think even I was half as good as you are when I first started.”

For a moment, Gwyn wasn’t quite sure how to respond. It was strange for her to imagine him as anything less than the warrior he was, but she supposed he had to have started somewhere, as everyone did. She swallowed, “Thank you.”

He nodded, “Of course.” 

Silence stretched between them, then, and Gwyn itched for something to fill it. It wasn’t that she was opposed to the quiet—she actually liked silence, sometimes. But it felt strange for them to be standing there, only a few feet apart, and saying nothing at all. 

Gwyn wasn’t sure if she could call Azriel a friend. He’d been training her for weeks now, and they often seemed to run into each other in the late hours of the evening, but she couldn’t quite decide what that meant. As far as people went, Azriel was very hard to read. He seemed to keep everything—this thoughts and emotions included—to himself. As if he were used to being alone. 

Her eyes turned again to the shadows over his shoulders, watching as they moved. There were fewer of them than there were during the day, when they were surrounded by others in training. They seemed calmer, too. She wet her lips, “Your shadows…” 

Azriel met her eyes, and she paused, wondering if perhaps he wouldn’t like being questioned. One of his eyebrows quirked upwards, “Yes?”

She took it as an invitation and swallowed, “Are they alive?”

He glanced over his shoulder, his eyes trailing the ones that covered his shoulders like a blanket made out of the night sky itself. “In a way, yes.” 

“Do you control them?” Gwyn asked, a little more confident now that he’d answered one question— at least, partially answered.

“Sometimes,” Azriel nodded. “I mean.. I can, but I don’t always.”

Gwyn laughed, “You answer questions exactly like a spy.”

He smiled back, “Old habits are hard to break.” 

A bitter truth. She nodded, “Can I ask you something else?” 

Azriel laughed. It was a rare and rich sound. “You’re very curious this evening.”

“I’m always curious.” Gwyn countered, drawling out the words. A beat later, “Can I take that as a yes?”

One of his shadows curled over his neck. Gwyn wondered what they must feel like— did they tickle his skin, or feel like nothing but air? He nodded, “Ask me whatever you’d like.” 

“Why did you become a spymaster?”

Azriel paused and looked down to the floor, lost in a thought. Gwyn could practically see the gears turning in his mind, considering every possible answer. Weighing the pros and cons of every word, and the implications they might have. She couldn’t imagine what it must be like to be him—how exhausting it must be to keep his secrets so close. 

She smiled, “You’re thinking awfully hard.”

“You surprised me,” he said, letting out a breath as though that fact was a shock on it’s own. “I expected you to ask me more about the shadows.” 

“Just trying to keep you on your toes,” Gwyn told him. 

Azriel nodded, “Not many people can do that.”

“Surprise you, you mean?” She asked. He nodded. “You must be awfully bored all the time, then. And I can tell you’re deflecting—you never answered the question.”

He ran a hand over his mouth, hiding his grin. “Are you sure you’re not a spy?”

“I wouldn’t be a very good one if I was,” Gwyn said. “I can’t even leave this house.”

The moment the words left her lips, Gwyn regretted them. It was like breaking a spell—all of the ease that had settled into their conversation vanishing in the blink of an eye. As his smile fell, and their eyes met, Gwyn knew exactly what he was remembering. Knew that, with those little words, she’d reminded him that she was not the warrior she appeared to be in their training, capable or not. 

She swallowed and looked away. There wasn’t any pity in Azriel’s eyes, but he was trained to keep his emotions off of his face—he was good at it, too. And even if Gwyn didn’t know what he was thinking, she could guess easily enough. _This girl is broken. This girl is weak. If she were really better, she wouldn’t be trapped here._

Gwyn stood up straight and forced a smile onto her face. She wondered if it looked as fake as it felt. “I should head to bed.”

Azriel nodded, “Alright.”

She shuffled towards the door, fully intending on leaving him there without a second glance. But she could have sworn she heard something whisper in the air behind her—not Azriel’s voice, but something else. 

_She is strong_ , it said, and she paused. 

“Did you hear that?” She turned, fixing Azriel with a frown.

He shook his head, “Hear what?”

“I thought…” Gwyn’s eyes narrowed. She looked away, searching the walls as though something might be hidden in the darkness. “Nothing, I’m probably just tired.”

She started back towards the door and called over her shoulder, “Goodnight, Azriel.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unfortunately I had real life to attend to today but hopefully I’ll be able post again a few times tonight before I go to bed!
> 
> I’m kind of just writing as it all comes to me (I have a few notes for how things progress but not a lot more than that) so there’s some serious chaotic energy on my end here. I’m definitely going to need to edit the heck out of this whenever I finish it, so on that note, please don’t be afraid to tell me if you notice anything off! Secondary opinions are always welcomed :)


	8. Chapter 8

Gwyn paced the length of her room over and over again, but no amount of walking seemed to calm her racing heart. It was Friday now, and somewhere in the house above, Nesta and Emerie were waiting to see if she’d be able to live up to her word after all. She was already late. They’d agreed to meet in the House at six, and the hour had already passed. 

A dress was sitting on her bed, folded and tucked in a silken bag. Nesta had offered it to her after training that morning—one of her old one’s that she’d outgrown after months of training. “You’re fine coming in your robes, if that’s what you prefer,” she’d said. “I just wanted you to have the option.”

Now, Gwyn owned three outfits, and two of them had once belonged to Nesta. If she wasn’t so damned nervous, she might have found that funny. 

She stopped in front of the mirror at the edge of the room, her arms limp at her sides while her fists clenched and unclenched. Even if she could somehow force herself from this room, how could she possibly make it through a whole evening? It wasn’t a formal event by any means, but Gwyn was fairly certain it would be awkward if she were sitting there shaking and fighting throughout the entire thing. 

She forced a deep breath into her lungs, holding it in and counting to five before she breathed out. She did it again, twice, and her hands stilled. This was nothing. She could do this. She would do this. 

Gwyn stumbled over to her bed and took the dress out of the bag. The fabric felt like silk, far softer than the robes she’d worn everyday for months. There was nothing fancy about it, save for the emerald colour. Even the cut, as far as she could tell, was about as modice as it could possibly be, dipping no lower than where her collar bones would sit. 

On the other side of the door, she could hear the shuffle of footsteps in the hall. The priestesses were walking towards the cavern, preparing for the evening service that, should Gwyn make it up to the House, she would miss. She could use it as an excuse, she supposed. Tell Nesta that they needed her—that she couldn’t get away.

No, she couldn’t. Gwyn had never lied to Nesta or Emerie, and she wasn’t about to start now. 

She slipped her robes over her head, leaving them in a pile at the foot of her bed, and reached for the dress. It fell over her shoulders in a heap of fabric, the ends dancing across the floor as she reached behind herself to lace up the back. 

When Gwyn turned back to the mirror, she felt her hands moving again. Her fist clenching and unclenching at her side, over and over again until her knuckles turned white. Looking at herself then, dressed in that emerald dress, Gwyn felt like she was staring at a lie. 

“You’re fine,” she whispered. Willed the words to be true. “Everything is fine.”

Every step Gwyn took towards the library doors was forced. Her teeth were pressed together so tightly, she wouldn’t be surprised if one cracked in two. She hated this side of herself, and how weak it made her feel. Emerie and Nesta—they’d faced trauma, too. Their pasts were just as dark, so why was she the only one who struggled with something as measly as walking out the door?

Gwyn’s steps faltered near the doors, her hand half-stretched towards the handle and shaking in the air. She pulled it open, stepped out and into the hall, and stopped. The staircase there—it would lead her right up to the main floor of the house. It would put her in plain view of any and all who waited near the balcony. There would be no backing out once they saw her. Nesta would find someway to calm her panic and nerves, and she would go. 

Her lip trembled. It was only the River House, and all with people she knew, but what would come after? They would think it was a sign she was moving forward—start to invite her to places more public. They would think she was no longer confined. 

She turned her head to the side, listening for voices up above. Barely, just barely, she heard them. Nesta and Cassian, and no one else.

“We’re late, Nesta.” Cassian said.

“Just one more minute,” Nesta replied, and the hope in her voice was too much for Gwyn to bare. 

Her eyes lined with tears, but she refused to let them spill. If she was going to be weak, then so be it—but she would not cry over her own shortcomings. Wouldn’t give herself even that much. 

Cassian's sigh was heavy enough that, even from the bottom of the stairs, Gwyn could hear it plainly. “Are you sure she’s coming?”

“I thought…” Nesta paused. “I thought for sure she would.” 

“We need to go,” Cassian said. A moment later, “Give her time, Nesta. Just… keep reaching out your hand.”

“I know,” Nesta said.

As the sound of their footsteps faded, Gwyn leaned back against the door. She could feel the grooves of the wood through her dress, and it was grounding. That simple feeling helped to calm her—or perhaps it was the fact that the risk was over. But even as Gwyn calmed, as her hands stilled and her breath came easier, the dread stayed. 

She’d let Nesta down tonight. Emerie, too. And even if they’d never tell her, they’d be disappointed. Because of her. It always came back to that. Regret and guilt, circling one another and driving deeper and deeper into her very soul. 

When the house above was silent, Gwyn finally let herself climb the stairs. There was no one waiting for her at the top, and she hated the relief that gave her. Hated it with every fibre of her being, and hated herself just as much.

_______

Azriel sat in the chair closest to the doors, watching the chaos around him with a lingering smile. He was beginning to feel as though moments like this, where everyone was gathered in one place at one time, were becoming rarer and rarer with every passing month. With Mor spending most of her time in Montesere and Cassian in the Illyrian camps, that much was probably true. 

Rhysand was standing near the head of the table, his head bent down as he whispered to baby Nyx in his arms. That was a sight that Azriel didn’t think he could ever be used to, but enjoyed nonetheless. There was pure adoration on his brother’s face, set in stone for all to see. Amren watched them idly from a few feet away, her Summer Court beau nowhere to be found.

Of course, Azriel knew where he was. He made a point to keep tabs on people from other Courts—especially when they often spent their time in his own. 

Mor and Elain were seated at the far end of the table from him, and Azriel was careful to keep his glances towards them brief. Though he no longer harboured feelings towards Mor, he knew their history just as well as she did, and he knew any lingering looks could be all too easily misinterpreted. 

That, and Elain. Rhysand’s warning still rang loudly in Azriel’s mind from when he’d been caught in the parlour with her after the solstice. The more he pondered the words, the less anger he felt towards him and the more he understood their truth. They needed their alliance with Lucien, especially now. And what Azriel felt for Elain… it didn’t feel as pure as what he saw on Rhysand’s face when he looked at his mate. It wasn’t love, or anything of the sort. He wanted Elain because it made sense, not because of her as a person. Because she was the sister of his brothers’ mates, and because he was alone. 

And that wasn’t enough to risk what they had with Lucien. 

As if his thought had called them in, Cassian and Nesta walked through the dining room doors. Emerie, who’d been sitting alone in one of the center chairs ever since Mor had winnowed her there, jumped to her feet with a smile that faltered all too quickly.

She walked towards them, and though she kept her voice low, Azriel strained to listen. Whispers and secrets often drew his attention. 

“Where’s Gwyn?” Emerie asked. “I thought she was coming with you.”

Azriel sat a little straighter. Now, he was listening for an entirely different reason. And perhaps a little too intently. 

“We waited,” Nesta said. “She didn’t show.”

Emerie sighed, “We asked too much of her, I think.”

“I don’t know how else to…” Nesta paused. “I thought this would be the easiest way to get her reintroduced with the world. I thought she was ready.”

“She’ll tell us when she is,” Emerie said. “You know she will.”

As everyone took their seats around the table, Azriel’s eyes were trained to the floor between his feet. He should have been paying attention to the conversation—should have been enjoying one of those all too rare occasions with his family, and yet he found he could not. 

It was not usually hard for Azriel to keep his emotions checked. It wasn’t usually hard for him to separate himself. And yet he found that, even as dinner was served and wine goblets filled, his focus laid entirely on the House of Wind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You might notice I added 30 chapters to the expected number... I think I didn’t expect this to be as slow burn as it’s turning out to be, so I feel like it just needed more. 
> 
> Anywayssssss, gwynriel supremacy


	9. Chapter 9

Gwyn sat in the middle of the training ring with her knees pressed against her chest. The night sky was not nearly as clear as it’d been for the past few days—clouds coated most of the stars, and even the moon was nothing more than a blurry haze. It was as though even the world was disappointed in her, and refused to give her the satisfaction of looking up at something beautiful. 

She had come up here to work. Hadn’t even taken the time to go back and change into her leathers before she ventured up to the roof. And instead, she found herself sitting in silence. 

Ever since that first time she’d joined Nesta and Cassian there, Gwyn had found comfort in the ring. She supposed it had something to do with how, even though she was exposed to the sky and the world above, the walls and mountain were still there to keep her closed in. It was like looking at freedom—touching it with the tips of her fingers and nothing else—without completely being free. 

Gwyn wanted that freedom, but the guilt of that fact alone was daunting. How could she ever step out into the world when Catrin would never get that chance? Catrin, who’d been looking right into her eyes when she’d died, and Gwyn had done nothing. 

That moment haunted her dreams the most. Woke her in the middle of the night, coated in sweat and struggling for breath, gasping out the name of her twin. Gwyn had felt it when she’d lost her—felt that link between them as it severed just as cleanly as her neck. 

Catrin had been the best of them. She was graceful and beautiful, had the same darkened locks as their mother did. The same pale blue eyes. Gwyn missed her more than words could say, and every single day, she wondered what she could have done differently. What might have happened if she’d said something different—acted different. Wondered if there was something she could have done to alter her sister’s fate. 

Somewhere in her, she knew there was no sense thinking such things, and yet she couldn’t stop it. 

Finally, Gwyn stood. She tugged her shoes off of her feet, leaving them strewn on the mats as she walked towards the bags that swung from the rafters.

She hit it once, the thump of her fist against the leather reverberating around the room like a drum. It wasn’t as hard as she could hit it—she could do better. She had to do better. 

Gwyn hit it again, and felt it all the way into her shoulder. Heard that sound—like a beacon, calling for strength. 

She hit it again, and again, and again, and even when the skin broke at the ends of her knuckles and blood stained the leather, she did not stop. 

____________

Azriel left the dinner early, walking out the door and into the night while the others still drunk themselves to stupor. He hadn’t said a word as he did, mostly because he didn’t want them to ask why. He wasn’t sure he would have an answer—at least, not a real one. 

His shadows danced over his shoulders, beckoning and begging for him to take flight. They were restless, as they had been the entire time he was seated at the table. As they had been ever since Emerie had approached Nesta when she first walked in. 

_She didn’t show_ , Nesta had said. And Azriel knew that wasn’t all there was to it. 

Azriel knew very little about Gwyn—knew more about her past than he did her present. But he knew people, in the generalized sense. He’d become good at analyzing them, at picking out their strengths and their qualities. He knew Gwyn was kind, that she liked to ask questions and make others smile. Knew she was determined, in a way that few others were. 

Knew that she was probably kicking herself for letting her friends down, and knew exactly where that would lead her. 

Azriel was prone to doing the same. Whenever things went awry and he blamed himself, he would often go to the training ring to work of his steam. Would pummel the bags until he bled in the hopes it would make him feel better, even though it never did. All it did was distract him, and as soon as he stopped, he would remember. 

He leapt into the sky, his wings unfurling behind him. It felt different, flying at night. More endless than it did in the day, when he could see the mountains and the ground in far greater detail. At night, the world was nothing but shadows and blackness.

He flew all the way to the House of Wind, taking the faster route right over the city itself. Usually, he would keep to the edges of Velaris so he wasn’t blinded by the faelight below. Not now.

Azriel landed on the balcony of the house instead of the training ring itself, but he saw her as he flew overhead. One lone figure lurking in the shadows. 

He stalked through the house without a clue as to what he was going. Gwyn was friendly with him, yes, but she was like that with everyone. He’d acted too rashly in coming on his own—she’d probably prefer Nesta or Emerie or one of the girls. But Azriel didn’t stop walking. He stepped up each of the stairs, his footsteps quiet, and stopped in the arched doorway at the top. 

Gwyn wasn’t wearing her robes, nor the leathers he’d only just gotten used to seeing her in. No—tonight, she was wearing a dress. It rippled like water as she moved—the fabric dancing around her legs with every parry and turn she made. Entirely impractical, and yet Azriel didn’t find it funny at all. 

She hit the bag again, the chains that strung it from the roof clanging against one another from the force. She was such a small person, and yet he knew without a doubt that a hit like that would hurt—would leave a bruise that, even with Illyrian healing, would stay for days. 

Only then did he notice the blood on the leather—where the brown colour of it was just a little too dark. He grimaced and stepped into the room, “You need to wrap your hands.”

She jumped, turning towards him with her hand over her heart. He’d scared her again. Gwyn swallowed, looking down at her hands and scowling at the torn skin. “I didn’t even feel it.” 

She examined her hands for a beat longer, and Azriel watched the shame that crossed over her face like a haunting ghost. Somehow, almost inexplicably, he knew how she felt. He’d been where she was—grieving, tormented. Some days, he still felt that way. 

Azriel took another step into the room. “Can I see?” 

“My hands?” Gwyn asked. He nodded. 

She held them out towards him, palms faced down to the floor. As Azriel approached her, he kept his eyes on hers, watching for any flicker of weariness or distrust. He found none, even as he lifted his arm and took her pale fingers in his own. 

She’d broken the skin on all ten of her knuckles—not enough for anything to be permanent, but enough that he winced. It’d had to have hurt, had to have been near agony every time her fist hit the bag, and yet she’d said she felt nothing. 

“Something bothering you, then?” He asked, dropping her hands. He started towards the water station at the side of the room, filling one of the cups to the rim before he returned to her side. Her hands lifted again, outstretched towards him, before he even had the chance to ask. 

Gwyn frowned. “Not overly.” 

Azriel didn’t need his shadows to tell him that was a lie. He dumped a bit of the water over her fingers, and though Gwyn hissed as it hit her skin, she didn’t flinch. Not even slightly. Water dripped onto the floor between their feet, but Azriel paid no mind to it. He and his brother’s had trained here for centuries—and he was sure that this was the least of the blood that’d been spilled. 

“I thought you were meant to be at the River House tonight,” Gwyn said. 

He shrugged, “I was. I left early.” 

“Why?” Gwyn asked. He dumped another bit of water over her hands, and this time she didn’t so much as make a sound. 

Azriel felt his lips twitch, but worked to keep the smile suppressed. So many questions, Gwyn had. It was both surprising and somehow… not. “Why should I answer you when you didn’t answer me?”

“I did answer you,” she countered. 

He dumped another bit of water on her fingers, washing the last of the blood away. Both of their hands were wet now— hers where he’d been washing them clean, and his own that held them still. 

“Is a lie truly an answer?” Azriel asked. 

Gwyn’s eyes narrowed, but he could see the ghost of a smile on her lips. Even that little bit was enough to make his breath catch, knowing that even in pain, Gwyn could smile. A light in the brink of darkness—a good kind of light. One of the few that his shadows didn’t shy from, but instead revelled in. 

Realizing her hands were still held in his own, Azriel took a step back and let go. He hadn’t even noticed—and that was strange enough on his own. 

“An answer is only a thing said in response to another,” she said, exactly as one might as they recited out of a book. She shook out her fingers, spraying droplets of water off of her skin and onto the floor. “Even untruths.”

She paused, and Azriel only waited. 

“I couldn’t walk up the stairs,” Gwyn admitted. Azriel heard the bitterness in the words—as though she hated even saying it out loud. “I told Nesta I would go, and I walked out the door, but I couldn’t… I couldn’t go up the stairs.”

Azriel frowned, looking down at her dress again. It made sense now, why she was wearing it. As though she’d had every intention of joining them at the house. He felt his shadows shift, and Gwyn’s eyes followed their movement, nothing but idle curiosity in her gaze. Never once had she looked at them with anything but that, as though she had not even a flicker of fear for their darkness. 

Most did, or were at least unnerved by them. Azriel had watched grown men stare at them with horror on their face, but Gwyn didn’t so much as blink. 

He swallowed, “Did you want to?”

“Yes,” Gwyn said. “Of course I did.”

Azriel hesitated, trying to find the words for what he thought. “You’re determined. Even more than anyone I’ve ever met, I think. I find it hard to believe that anything on this world could keep you from what you want.”

He watched her consider the words, and all the while he worried about how they’d come across. He was speaking freely—far more so than he usually did. 

Gwyn sighed and looked up to the sky, where the blanket of clouds still covered the stars. There was a longing on her face—a kind that Azriel recognized all to well, for he saw it in his own whenever he looked in the mirror. “I need more time, I suppose.”

“There’s nothing wrong with that,” Azriel said, every word completely true. “Don’t let your mind convince you otherwise.”

She looked at him and laughed, “Do you read minds, too, Shadowsinger?”

“ That,” he began, “is a secret I will take to my grave.”

And when Gwyn smiled then, there was no force in the world that could have kept him from smiling back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BYE omg this is my favourite chapter by like a hundred million. I love them so much my heart is about to combust. 
> 
> I’m working on making my chapters a little longer so hopefully this is at least a littttttttle bit better


	10. Chapter 10

Gwyn sat on one of the lounge chairs in the library of the House of Wind, a book in her hands but her focus straying from the pages. Nesta and Emerie were sitting in the other two chairs, picking at a bowl of grapes and berries that the house had conjured out of thin air. Gwyn wasn’t sure she would ever be able to get used to that, but she would never complain, either. 

The conversation they’d had that morning about Gwyn missing the dinner had been short—almost strangely so. Gwyn had opened her mouth to explain, but both of them had told her it was unnecessary. 

“It’s okay,” Emerie had said while they stood in line up, waiting for Cassian to bark out orders. “Next time.” 

It was the _next time_ that had stuck with Gwyn all day long. While she’d shelved books in the library below, while she’d hobbled in and out of Merrill's office on stiff legs. The priestess had let her go early today, claiming all she needed to do was edit and that Gwyn wasn’t necessary for that. It was why she was in the house, now, spending the afternoon with her two closest friends. 

The book in her hands was a romance that she was the last of their group to read. Nesta had said it was one of her favourites, and Emerie had taken little more than a day to finish it. Now, Gwyn was a quarter of the way into the novel, and she doubted she’d be putting it down before she got to the end. 

Gwyn would often describe herself as a dreamer. She liked the idea of adventure and romance, of scaling great mountains and falling in love. Books often felt like an escape, in that way. They took her to great places and wondrous worlds and made her feel like something more than what she was. 

“What part are you at?” Nesta asked her, plopping another strawberry between her lips. 

Gwyn frowned down at the page. The sun shining through the window at her side was casting such a bright light over the words that she had to squint to see them clearly. “Lila just found Henry’s collection of letters.”

“Oh, I hate that part,” Emerie grimaced. “Though, if I were you, I wouldn’t read the next chapter around any of your priestess friends.”

“Why?” Gwyn asked. 

Emerie grinned, “Because you’ll blush like a tomato and everyone will know exactly what sort of things you’re reading.”

“Gwyn doesn’t blush like a tomato,” Nesta shook her head. There was a teasing glint to her eyes. “It’s more like a Carnation—very pink.”

“Oh, leave me be.” Gwyn grumbled. She closed the book with a huff. 

“It’s adorable,” Emerie continued. Gwyn reached for one of the grapes and threw them at her head. 

It bounced off Emerie’s nose and landed on her lap, and all three of them broke into giggles. 

Gwyn turned back to the window and held a hand over her eyes. She could see the entirety of Velaris from where they were. The sun beat down on the roofs of hundreds of houses, and the heat of it—she wouldn’t be surprised if all of the snow was gone by the time she woke up. It felt more like a summer’s day than the dead of winter. 

Her mind strayed, somehow finding itself back in her conversation with Azriel the night before. The feeling of his hand under her own as he cleaned the wounds on her hands—wounds that had healed, overnight, and all that remained of was a slight red-tint to the skin. 

_You’re determined,_ he’d said. _I find it hard to believe that anything on this world could keep you from what you want._

The surety in his voice had been enough to make her mind go blank—wordless, questionless, as though language had entirely escaped her. She hadn’t thought he’d been watching her closely enough to notice anything, but she was wrong. 

And knowing that there was something who believed in her that much… Gwyn didn’t know how that made her feel. Warm—like the sun on her skin. 

Perhaps Azriel was right. The only thing keeping Gwyn from the outside was herself, after all. And that was a barrier that only she and she alone could cross. 

She turned back to Nesta and Emerie, peering down at the bracelets on their wrists. The beads that had led them to one another in the blood rite. That would lead them back to each other forever. She swallowed, “I have an idea.”

They looked up at her. Emerie had a mouthful of fruit when she spoke, “About?”

“I think…” Gwyn swallowed. “I’m not ready for anything like the River House or the city, or anything like that.” 

Nesta sat up a little straighter. “Okay…”

“But I’d like to try something else,” Gwyn said. “And I don’t think I want to do it alone.”

_________

Gwyn stood in the foyer of the house of wind, dressed in her robes and with a jacket slung over her shoulders. Sunshine or not, she didn’t want to risk the cold. 

Nesta and Emerie stood across from her, both equally dressed for the weather. None of them knew how long they’d be outside—it depended entirely on her. Both of them had told they’d stay in the forest for five minutes or all night. That it was entirely up to her, and no one else. 

She swallowed, running her hands over the sleeves of her coat, “And we’re sure—no one will be there?”

Nesta shook her head, “Cassian scoped it out. There’s nothing and no one but trees for miles.”

Gwyn drew in a breath. The panic she was feeling—it was nothing compared to what she’d felt when she’d been getting ready for the River House, but it wasn’t calming, either. She could feel that fear in her, that fire crackling and begging to be fed. She swallowed again, “And how will they know when we’re ready to leave? When to come get us?”

“Rhysand said he’ll keep a link open,” Nesta said. “The moment you want to go, he’ll be there to take us back.”

Gwyn nodded, over and over again. She let the words sink in. There was no danger in this—none at all. She’d faced the peak of Ramiel. She could handle a day in the woods. 

“Okay,” she said quietly. She drew in another breath, in and in until her lungs felt like they would burst. “Okay.” 

Emerie and Nesta watched her, waiting for her to tell them she was ready. She could feel her heart racing, beating wildly beneath her ribs, but Gwyn ignored it. “Let’s go.” 

Out loud, Nesta said nothing, but Gwyn knew she was talking to Rhysand. Telling him they were ready for him to winnow them out and into the forest below the mountain. It would be the furthest Gwyn had been from the house since the blood rite itself—since that night they’d been snatched from their beds in Emerie’s house and dragged to the base of Ramiel. 

The terror Gwyn had felt then, she’d only ever felt once before. Waking up in a pile of snow in only her nightdress, and surrounded by nothing but empty forest and men. It had felt like every nightmare she’d ever had had somehow come to life, all at once. But she’d survived that. And fear could not last forever. 

Rhysand and Morrighan appeared only a moment later, blinking into the space between them. If Gwyn didn’t know who he was, she would have never thought he was a High Lord—not in the draw-string pants and stained shirt he wore before them. It was almost enough to laugh, especially as he stood there next to his cousin, who’s dress was almost grand enough to be fit for a ball. 

Nesta seemed to notice it, too, but she was not so polite as to keep her humour to herself. Her nose wrinkled, “Rhysand, what in the Mother’s name is on your shirt?”

He looked down to his shoulder, where a wet spot had set into the fabric, and let out a sigh. “Nyx’s lunch, I’d assume.”

“Please tell me it came out of his mouth,” Emerie grimaced. Gwyn couldn’t hold back her laugh then—she doubled over from the force of it. 

Rhysand fixed her with a glare, “I was burping him. Of course it came out of his mouth.” 

She shrugged, “It was a valid question.”

Nesta cleared her throat, “Back to the task at hand, if you’d please.”

Rhysand nodded, and both he and Morrighan held out their hands. Gwyn allowed herself one more moment to breath, and realized it came a little easier than it had before. Distraction, she realized. It worked wonders. 

She took Morighan’s hand in her own while her friends did the same, latching onto Rhysand with their noses wrinkling from the smell. Gwyn wondered if Feyre was in just as bad shape, or if it was simply a new-father thing. 

Her eyes fluttered shut, but she felt the shift in the air as they disappeared. Felt that stomach-dropping sensation of her feet landing on fresh snow. The difference in the temperature, as she left the warmth of the House and was met by the frigid chill. 

When she opened her eyes, the first thing she saw was the trees. They stood in a clearing, but they were surrounded by them on all sides. Giant and green where the snow had melted from their branches. Enclosing them on all sides, and yet not. These were not walls—nothing of the sort. 

“Thank you,” Nesta said, nodding to Rhysand and Morrighan. “I’ll let you know when we’re ready to go back.”

Gwyn thought she heard him mutter something about High Lord’s and transportation before he and his cousin vanished, but she couldn’t be sure. 

She looked up at her friends, breathing in that cold air, and saw the worry on their faces. They were trying to figure out what she was thinking, trying to decide whether the shock on her face was good or bad. 

Gwyn smiled and fell back into the snow. It was ice on her fingers, chilling them to her very bones, but she paid it no mind. Emerie and Nesta walked towards her, looking down from either side of where she lay. 

The trees were blocking most of the sun, but Gwyn could still see the glare of it over their tops. Could feel it in the difference between the air and the coldness at her back. The snow was slowly seeping into her robes, soaking through the fabric on her legs, but she didn’t care. Not even slightly. 

“Is this what we’re going to do all day, then?” Emerie asked, crossing her arms over her chest. “I mean, I won’t complain. Nope—I’m not complaining at all.”

Gwyn laughed, “I’m sure we’ll find something to do.” 

“You know,” Nesta said, reaching down into the snow. She took a handful in her grasp and pressed it together between her palms. “Cassian told me about this incredibly interesting tradition he and the males do on Solstice day.”

“And what’s that?” Gwyn asked. She lifted her head off the snow.

Nesta looked down at her, that ball of snow in her hands, “It’s incredibly mature, I think. Truly worthy of warriors—Valkyries, too, I suppose.”

“Nesta, out with it.” Emerie said. 

With a grin and two rosied cheeks, Nesta threw the snow at Emerie’s chest. It hit her right over her collar, breaking apart into pieces and clinging to her clothes. While she cursed at the cold, Nesta and Gwyn broke into laughs. 

And the war began.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y’all are really making my entire MONTH in these comments. Thank you so much.


	11. Chapter 11

Gwyn appeared in the parlour of the House of Wind, her hand in Morrighan’s and her friends only a second behind them. 

Her robes were soaked, right through to the seems. They clung to her legs and felt like weights hanging over her shoulders, but she didn’t mind. There was still a smile on her face—so wide and bright that her cheeks were sore. 

They’d had a snowball fight, and it had gone on for hours. Hours of nothing but her and her friends in the trees, dodging balls of ice and laughing whenever one struck. It’d been glorious, and Gwyn couldn’t remember ever having felt so alive. 

Gwyn could have stayed out there all night, if the cold hadn’t set in. The sun had slowly made its way behind the mountain, and as they were basked in the night, cold and wet and with no reprieve, they’d decided it was time to go home. 

“I can’t feel my face,” Emerie said, slapping her fingers against her cheeks. 

Water began to pool on the floorboards beneath their feet, dripping from the ends of their clothes and the tips of their hair. Emerie and Nesta both looked as though they’d gone for a swim fully-dressed, and she supposed she couldn’t look any better. The thought of it only made her want to smile more. 

She’d had fun today. The kind of fun that made her feel like a character in a novel instead of a real person—as though it couldn’t possibly be real. 

Rhysand and Morrighan winnowed away, leaving the three of them alone. Gwyn peeled her coat off of her shoulders, as it did more harm than good. The house was warm, but she was cold enough that her teeth were near chattering and goosebumps covered every bit of her skin. 

“I need a bath,” Gwyn said. “A very, very warm bath.”

“I second that,” Nesta said. All three of their coats were strewn on the floor now, a mess of fabric and water. 

At the top of the staircase, footsteps rounded the corner. Gwyn looked up to see Cassian and Azriel come into vision, both dressed in their leathers. They looked down at their trio and Gwyn watched the questions dance across their eyes—the curiosity and conjecture. She smiled again. 

Cassian laughed, “You three look like wet dogs.”

“And we feel like them, too,” Emerie said. She started towards the stairs, her shoes sloshing with every step. Gwyn couldn’t help but laugh. 

She looked up again, meeting Azriel’s gaze. With her arms out beside her, presenting the absurdness of her appearance, she grinned, “I left the house.” 

He nodded, “I can see that. Did you have fun?”

Gwyn wrung out her hair, “It was the most fun I’ve had in… so long I can’t even remember.”

“Determined,” he said, a small curve to his lips. 

Gwyn glanced back towards Nesta, noting the look on her friend’s face as she stared back, one eyebrow raised and a challenge in her eyes. She didn’t so much as shrug—but she felt the heat on her cheeks as the blood rushed to her face. She could only hope that Azriel—who was probably trained to notice things such as silent interactions—had missed the exchange. 

There wasn’t anything romantic between her and Azriel, Gwyn knew that, but that didn’t mean she didn’t notice him. It would be hard not to, she thought. Azriel was kind and stoic, handsome and tall. Priestess’ giggled everytime he so much as spoke a word in their training. And he was mysterious—in a way that drew Gwyn in like no other.

She liked that mystery. Liked it a little more than she wanted to admit. 

Clearing her throat, Gwyn moved to follow Emerie up the stairs. It was a good thing there wasn’t a shortage of rooms and bathing chambers in the House of Wind—Gwyn would never hear the end up it if she sauntered into the library, soaking wet and dripping all over the floor. Clotho, ever the calm and well-mannered, would probably spontaneously combust. 

Nesta and Gwyn made their way up the stairs, stopping at the top and pausing. Cassian reached for Nesta’s head, pulling up a lock of hair and raising his eyebrow. She shrugged him off with a laugh. 

“Can I use your old room?” Gwyn asked her, shrugging towards the hall. 

Nesta nodded, “Of course. The House will bring you everything you need.”

She left the three of them near the stairs, venturing deeper into the House until she found the door she wanted. Nesta’s old room still looked exactly the same, save for the lack of her things. Everything she owned had been moved into Cassian’s room on the level above. 

Gwyn stepped into the bathroom and stifled a laugh—the water was already going, and the tub half-full. Small jars of lavender creams and bubbles waited on the shelf beside it. 

“Thank you,” she whispered softly. Nesta had said that the house could hear them—could understand every word they spoke. There was no response, but Gwyn felt that presence, like a figure that lurked all around her

Shedding her robes, Gwyn threw them into the corner of the room and fell back against the porcelain bath. The water wasn’t hot, not to the point of pain, but she felt it against her skin like ice to fire. 

The scar on her thigh was like a beacon to her eyes—an imperfection on otherwise mark-less skin. Gwyn had been through much in her lifetime, and yet the only physical scar she bore was from that arrow. 

Even the attack on Sangravah hadn’t left anything on her skin. Her bruises had faded in days, some in hours, until no one who’d looked at her would know what occurred. Every scar she bore from that event was emotional—inside her where no one else could see it. 

Sometimes she wished they were outward, on her skin for all to see. They wouldn’t know from what they came, or how they were earned, but they would know why she was like she was. Why she panicked around strangers, why her eyes fluttered around rooms and searched every crevice. 

Perhaps that was why she hadn’t been healed from the arrow wound. The magic of the Blood Rite was meant to heal them whenever they reached the point, and she had. But the scar of it had remained. That physical mark that proved what she’d done, what she’d conquered, and what she’d survived. 

Her fingers danced over it beneath the water, scraping the edges where her nerves had been severed. She couldn’t feel anything on it—the skin, the nerves, they were damaged enough that it felt numb. 

Today had been good for her. It wasn’t anything drastic, not by any means, but Gwyn knew it was a step in the right direction. 

She refused to let herself think about Catrin, even as her hands graced the surface of the water and her thoughts strayed to her twin’s webbed fingers. Thinking about Catrin, when she’d only just allowed herself a bit of freedom, would only make her sad. Would only remind her that she was moving towards normalcy while her sister was dead in a grave. 

Gwyn dipped her head beneath the water, her auburn hair rippling around her like curtains in the wind. As a child, she would often do it only to count the minutes that she could stay submerged. Her nymph heritage meant she could manage it for longer than most fae, sometimes as much as ten minutes, even if her face was beet red and she was gasping by the end of it. 

This time, Gwyn did not wait for her lungs to beg for air. She stayed beneath the surface of the water for only a minute or so before she pulled herself back up, wiping the droplets from her eyes and reaching for the bottles of lavender soaps and creams that the house had called for her.

Everything they kept down in the library was plain, she realized as she lathered it first into her palms and then into her air. Plain scented soaps and plain coloured clothes, as though the goal was to make everything just a little more dull. She’d understood that once—the necessity of it. But not anymore. 

She missed the world outside of the walls of the house. Missed the gardens outside of Sangravah, where she’d spend hours basking in sunlight between rituals and work. She missed scented creams and wardrobes packed full of clothes. She missed life. 

No longer feeling the chill of being outside for so long, Gwyn stood and wrapped one of the towels conjured by the house around her body. It was warm, as though someone had left it in front of a fire instead of on the shelf.

“Would it be too much to ask for some clothes, too?” She tried, eyeing her robes in the corner. She wrinkled her nose, “Maybe something blue.”

A dress appeared in the corner, and Gwyn pressed her lips together against her smile. It was blue, just as she’d asked, and simple enough that while it was different from her robes, it wouldn’t be uncomfortably so. Something she would only notice if she were to look down. 

As she changed, Gwyn couldn’t help but wonder how Nesta ever spent any money at all. Wonder why she would feel the need to shop in the city or anywhere else when the House could bring her anything she pleased, and for no cost at all. 

She decided that when and if she should ever leave the mountainside, Gwyn would ask the House for an entire appartement’s worth of things before she did. And whenever she ran out, she would just come back for more. She would never have to spend a dime. 

The thought made her laugh. 

She left the bathroom and Nesta’s old chambers, finding the hallway deserted. For a moment, she thought about going up to the training ring, for no other reason than looking to see if Azriel were there. She didn’t have anything to say to him in particular—nothing to tell him or to share. 

All she wanted was his company, she supposed. Him and his shadows and that small, one-sided grin. 

But Gwyn took the stairs that would lead her down to the library instead of up above.


	12. Chapter 12

It wasn’t often that Azriel smiled, and yet for some reason, he couldn’t seem to stop.

He sat on one of the rafters atop the house of wind, staring down at the night sky that seemed to surround him on all sides. He hadn’t come up here to train—the much was evident by how he hadn’t so much as touched any of the weaponry or gear that littered the floor below. No, Azriel had come up there to think. And perhaps to wait—just to see if anyone would join him. 

It was a strange feeling, that hope. He felt a little like a fool because of it. 

The sight of Gwyn in their parlour kept replaying over and over again behind his eyes, and he seemed incapable of staunching the twitch of his lips as it did. Of all the things he’d expected to see when he and Cassian had rounded the corner, that hadn’t been one of them. 

She’d been grinning, and Azriel supposed it was the happiest he’d ever seen her. Gwyn had always seemed carefree, even if he knew she was not, but right then he truly believed there was nothing in this world or any other that could take that glee away from her. The joy of it must’ve been contagious—because hours later, Azriel still couldn’t staunch that feeling in his chest. That pride.

It was funny, he supposed. She’d been soaked to the bone, covered in little flecks of snow that had yet to melt, and there’d been flecks of pine needles strewed about her hair. She should have looked like a mess—should have been laughable. But Azriel found that, when he’d locked eyes with her and noticed that damn smile, all of the breath had been torn from his lungs. As though someone had reached down into his chest and just pulled.

She’d left the house. 

Azriel had been through much in his time alive—had seen wars and death and evil that rivalled any other. Sometimes, they’d affected him more than he liked to admit. The most obvious being those first few years off his life, where he’d spent his days in a cage and his nights covered in bruises. 

He’d lost himself for a while after that. Years, if he was being truthful. Had believed nothing would ever be good for him again—that he would never know joy or comfort or love, or anything of the sort. 

It’d taken him years to recover from that, but Gwyn… she’d only taken a few months. The willpower in her, that fire and determination, was unrivalled. 

And he admired that. So much so that he found he was almost a little jealous of it. He knew that most of the priestesses who joined them for training looked to him and Cassian like teachers—men who had lived lives far longer than their own, who had seen lifetimes and lessons. 

Azriel didn’t quite believe that was the truth. Yes, he had lived a long life, but that didn’t make him any better. It didn’t make him anymore wise or cultured. Not when he still felt hopeless some days, even when he had nothing to blame that feeling on. No specific incident or tragedy, not like them. Just a dull ache with no origin. 

“Think any louder, brother,” Cassian called from the doorway. Azriel should have heard him approach, but he’d been too lost in his own head. “And you’ll wake the whole mountain.”

Azriel smirked, “I think you might actually believe that.”

With two strides, Cassian closes the distance between them, walking until he’s standing just below the rafter from where Azriel’s feet are dangling limply through the air. Even with all of the night sky and the view before him, it suddenly feels smaller now that he’s not there alone. As though Cassian’s presence was enough to make the world just a little less daunting. 

Azriel often felt that way around people, and not just his friends. People always made him feel crowded and unsure. It was different with Cass and Rhys, though, and it had been since that first moment they met. That crowded feeling was still there, but it wasn’t necessarily bad. As though it existed only to chase away the loneliness that was always so stifling. 

“What’s troubling you?” Cass asks. He stays where he is on the ground, and Azriel recognizes that for what it is. Him trying to be helpful, but not overbearing. Just far enough that he could still be dismissed easily enough. 

Azriel shrugs, “Nothing. I’m just taking in the view.”

“I don’t think that view has changed in a good hundred years,” Cass says. 

“If you’re suggesting its age makes it any less pretty,” Azriel says with a half-smile, “then I’m afraid I have something to tell you, my centuries-old brother.” 

“I’m just as pretty as I was two hundred year ago, thank you very much.”

Azriel lets out a breath that’s almost a laugh, turning down to look at his brother. It’s late enough in the evening that it’s strange for him to be here, especially alone. Lately, Cass has been disappearing with Nesta just as soon as the sun falls, eager as always for their time alone. Azriel can’t say he blames them.

Five hundred years of life had taught him much, but never once had he felt love. Not the kind that Cass and Rhysand had—not that burning and passionate thing that seemed to linger in every decision they made.

Azriel had had females; dalliances over the years that were often nothing more than a trip to bed and a curt goodbye a few hours later. He’d thought, for a while, he loved Mor. Had fully believed with every piece of his heart that she was the single most enchanting female to ever exist on this earth. It had taken him a long time to realize that wasn’t the truth of it—that whatever he felt for Mor wasn’t love, because that was something meant to be shared and not simply given. Attachment—that’s what that was. 

It had taken him decades to get over it. 

And he could think of a thousand things he would give up in this world to experience what his brothers had, even just for a moment. That bliss and joy that became so clear on their faces whenever they just laid eyes on their females. 

“Gwyn looked happy this afternoon,” Cass said, and Azriel blinked. It came out of nowhere, that statement. 

His shadows curled around his throat, and Az frowned. Cass could be forward with things, yes, but he had a history of being hesitant when it came to the subject of Az and females. For hundreds of years, he’d never said a single word to Az about Mor’s feelings, choosing instead to use action to wean him away. 

Az let out a breath, “Tell Nesta to keep to her own business.” 

Cass sighed, “To be fair, all she asked me to do was hint. I think that was hinting, don’t you?”

“I think it’s meddling,” Azriel countered, laughter in his voice. 

From the corner of his eye, he watched Cassian shrug. “I could see it, though, Az. You’re very… similar isn’t really the best word, but something like it.”

Azriel doesn’t say that he could see it, too, because as much as it may have crossed his mind, the absurdness of it always hit him a moment later. He couldn’t care less about her confinement to the house, but the reasoning behind it… The first time he’d looked into Gwyn’s face, he’d been covered in blood. Coated in such a thick layer of red that he’d surely looked more like a monster than an Illyrian. 

Often, he wondered if any of her nightmares included that image. If just a little of her fear for men hailed from that scene of him standing over the bodies of a dozen of Hybern’s males. Gwyn knew who he was, and she was smart enough that he didn’t doubt that she knew that wasn’t the only blood to stain his hands. That there’d been more before that night, and even after. 

That there would always be more. 

And Gwyn—she hated men. Feared them, even. And she’d found a friend in him despite that. She graced him with smiles and laughter that often left him thinking of fire burning in the darkest of nights. He couldn’t fathom the idea of ruining that friendship. 

She had so much potential in her. All of that determination and joy created someone Azriel knew would leave her mark on the world, and she deserved much more than he could ever give her. Azriel led a life of darkness; of shadows and mirth and quiet. Gwyn deserved light. 

“Did you come up here for something?” Azriel asked as he turned back to the stars and the clouds. His shadows were thicker now, and their whispers were loud in his ears, some commenting on Cass’ scent or the chill of the air. Most whispered about Gwyn in the depths below, and how it was well passed the time she usually would have ventured up to the training ring. 

He wondered if she’d stayed clear because of the afternoon away, or if it was simply because she had no demons to keep at bay tonight. No reason to visit the punching bags or kick at the air. 

Cass sighed, “No, I guess not. Nesta’s reading, I thought I’d just come see what you were doing.” 

Azriel nodded, that little bead of jealousy settling into his heart once again. 

Silence stretched between them, and Cass started back towards the door. Az’s shadows alerted him when his brother’s steps faltered and he looked back over his shoulder. “You should get some sleep, Az. You look tired.” 

Cassian left, then. His footsteps echoed against the walls all the way down to the house, and Azriel didn’t so much as shift against the sudden quiet. Without him there, Az felt that loneliness again, that shift that came with being left entirely to himself and his own thoughts. 

_You look tired,_ Cass had said. Such a small and easily missed word, and yet it described everything Az felt right down to his soul. 

He was tired, but he didn’t think any amount of sleep in this life or the next would fix that. 

_____________________

Gwyn stared up at the bunk above her own, listening to the sound of the priestess’ breathing. It filled the room with soft snores and movement, and made the darkness feel a little more alive than it should. 

She was still riding the high of earlier that evening—still holding back a smile at the thought of the snow on her skin, and the fact that no matter how hard she’d looked, she hadn’t even been able to see the House of Wind. It had felt like freedom, and she wanted more. 

But under all that want, there was a twinge of guilt. That one piece that always stuck with her, reminding her that she would live on and watch time pass, while her sister lay idle in a grave. It was easier to bare that guilt when she locked herself away in the Library—easier to live when she wasn’t truly living. 

Before, she hadn’t yet had that taste of what it would be like otherwise. Hadn’t gotten that look at life on the other side of the walls, aside from the week she spent fighting for her life. And now that she had it, Gwyn wasn’t sure she could ever let it go again.   
Not even for Catrin. And it made her feel wretched. 

As her thoughts began to spiral, Gwyn forced herself to think of the good. To push the bad things to the back of her mind. She thought of Nesta and the laughter that’d spilled from her when Gwyn’s snowball had hit her square in the chest. She thought of Emerie’s scowl as she stood in the parlour dripping wet and half-frozen. She thought of the pride on Azriel’s face when she looked up at him on the stairs. 

She wasn’t ready for the city, Gwyn knew that, and yet she found herself wondering what she could do next. Lying there on her bed with her duvet pulled up to her chin, she pondered for what must’ve been hours. Picturing herself walking down the streets and realizing that was too much, too soon. Wondering if she might be able to visit the river house without panicking at the bottom of the stairs. 

She needed another step—one to stand between where she was now and where she would be then. One little step forward to keep away that risk of falling over the edge. 

As her eyes grew heavy, Gwyn struggled to keep her mind awake. But it was only as she began to fall into a dream that she realized what that one step could be. 

She fell into a dream of wings against the night sky, and a glittering city just out of grasp below

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all! Sorry for going MIA—I had a lot going on these past few weeks. I started a new job, had some assignments due, and a little more exciting is I was offered a writing contract for one of my books on an online platform!! So I basically had to edit an entire manuscript and it took up a hot minute of my spare time lol.
> 
> ANYWAYS here’s the chapter I made you guys wait 7 years for. As always, I appreciate the love in the comments :)


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